Some time in June my cousin invited me to join her and her friends at N’s summer house. There will be ice-cream, she said.

Well. That’s all I needed to know. ’twas a lovely Saturday morning when we bought enough food to sustain a small army, loaded it into Jarvis, picked up N and her cousin, and drove to our designated location. There we ate, and talked, and drank, and listened to terrible ’90s Russian pop (which I love, mind you), and played trivia games, and were merry.

Whenever I’m at some get-together, I take very little photographs. Which deeply perpetuates the idea that I don’t really go out. And while I’m more reclusive than anyone I know, sometimes I do crawl out of the house in the company of other people. It’s just that I never document it. Rarely ever people behave naturally in front of the camera. Behaviour changes so much whenever I take one out, it’s uncanny. Most people lock down, others begin to act out (frankly, I don’t know which is better – I guess it depends on the person), and rarely ever someone stays as they were. For me, it ruins the mood instantly.

So even if I haul my camera with me, I rarely ever whip it out.

This time was no exception. Only when there was a lull in conversation and people started literally falling asleep from all the food and the drink and the fresh air and sun did I step quietly away to take some pictures of N’s garden.

Eventually this will grow and cover the entire terrace, which will make it even cooler than it is now. Natural climate control. I love these things.